


Mellitus

by SanSanFanFan



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a dessertophile, Crowley is soooo gone, Fluff, Incubi, M/M, Medieval monastic angelic and demonic shenanigans, Mellitus is latin for sweet like honey, Pining, and oblivious, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 10:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19462063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanSanFanFan/pseuds/SanSanFanFan
Summary: Its 1436 and Crowley is looking forward to pitting monastery against monastery and getting both as a win for his side. Its a more efficient way of tempting monks than 'making an effort', but soon Crowley's pride is hurt and he fills in for a rather inept incubus. His target though might not be who he expected!Gifted to https://lovenlu.tumblr.com/ for their fantastic Ineffable Husbands art!Mellitus (Latin):Adjectivemellītus (feminine mellīta, neuter mellītum); first/second declensionOf or pertaining to honey.Sweetened with honey, honey-sweet, honeyed.(figuratively) As sweet as honey; honey-sweet, darling, lovely.(figuratively, substantive, term of endearment) Sweet, darling, honey.





	Mellitus

Crowley was not very keen on his ass.

He’d bought the creature on his way through Southampton, after arriving by cog at the busy port. The beast was rather on the short side, leaving his hose covered legs to almost drag through the rustling brown leaves covering the forest floor. But at least it was well tempered. All the damned ‘proper’ horses the trader had shown him had shied away from him, even though he’d kept his long-tailed hood up to shadow his damned eyes the whole time. The resigned looking grey ass had just carried on chewing as Crowley had checked its hooves and asked the slimy trader how many miles it had travelled already.

And at least the ass was getting him where he needed to be. Bellus Locus Regis, the ‘beautiful place of the King’, a monastery at the mouth of a river where a powder-keg of very un-monk-like rivalries and tensions was primed to explode.. with a little nudge from Crowley of course.

Monasteries had become a little bit of a speciality for the demon. Communal living always generated a certain amount of interpersonal tension as arguments about whose turn it was to hoe the marrows or to muck out the pig pen regularly erupted. Throw in a dollop of sexual abstinence and a hierarchy formed around the appearance of moral superiority, and monasteries were the equivalent of compost heaps without proper ventilation on a boiling Summer’s day.

Crowley’d had no direct command from down below to tackle this particular one, but word of the piety of the monks had made its way to him during his prompting of a revolution among the barbers and beltmen of Lyon. He had surveyed maps of Hampshire and discovered a potential rival in the Priory of Ellingham to the north, which also had a great reputation for the purity of its monks and its excellent beer. Pitting the two against each other would be both easy and huge amounts of fun for the demon. He could already see the burning fields of hops, and so he smiled broadly.

The smile faltered though as the ass began wheezing again. Only ‘one careful owner’?! Bollocks!! That horse trader was going to get a visit from some boils on Crowley’s way back through Southampton!!

Eventually though the ass staggered through the ornate archway of the monastery and brought him into a busy courtyard of hooded monks in white, cats, dogs, washerwomen, chickens, and other weary travellers who were busy consulting their _Verrily Goode Guides to the Hostelries and Monasteries of the Great Counties of Our Blessed England, With Appendices Aplenty Covering the Best Places to Kiss Icons and How to Avoid Thee Getting Pox, 15 th Century Edition_. He let a lad stable his ass and pointedly ignored the superior look a few of the travellers gave him as they dismounted from palfreys with flowing manes and elegant long legs. A wrinkle of his nose within the shadows of his hood and each one of them would later find their ride onwards much ruined by the sudden appearance of piles.

The main dining hall was busy catering to the monastery’s guests while the monks themselves either sat at the top table or pottered about serving bowls of hot oats. Crowley took a seat furthest from the torches and observed the eaters with a wry smile. It would be almost too easy to bring down this place-

His one arched eyebrow was joined by the other as he recognised one of the monks.

“Oh, for Satan’s sssake.” He hissed, annoyed at his first, pleased, response and tempering it with a more appropriate annoyance. “What’s _he_ doing here?”

The hood covered the pale hair of the angel, but only just, and every time he gestured energetically to the monk next to him it was in danger of falling down. Crowley peered at the angel’s lips and interpreted the conversation he was too far away to hear.

“‘But there are simply wonderful things you can do with honey and oats. Cakes, biscuits, even just a drizzling of honey on this rather bland bowl of hot oats. No, no, honey is not a temptation. At least I don’t think so… and you have so many lovely bees around, it would be no problem at all to devise some hives-’” 

Crowley muttered under his breath. “He’s only bloody well trying to get them to make him dessert!”

Crowley slunk out soon after. He didn’t need to eat, and he had to find out quite what Aziraphale was up to. His slinking took him to the cells where he and the other travellers were being hosted for the night. Among their number were the cells of the monks as well, absolutely no different in their sparseness. Aziraphale’s was easy enough to identify, though, as he seemed to have ‘borrowed’ quite a few volumes of heavily illuminated books, stacking them in tall columns all about the plain room. His investigation was however interrupted by the arrival of another monk.

Crowley turned, all ready to offer some kind of half-hearted excuse for being found in Aziraphale’s room when he found himself facing one of the most attractive humans he’d ever seen. That is if your tastes run to perfectly symmetrical faces with strong chins, long eyelashes, and a body that strained its defined muscles against the white robe of a monk.

“Oi, I saw you at dinner! What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing here?!” The man squeaked.

Crowley squinted, looking closely at the Adonis, and suddenly recognised the demon underneath the body. “Delwas?”

“Yeah, Crowley, what of it?” Delwas’ voice was a little nasal and whiny. “You know, this isn’t bloody right. This is my one. You go get your own one!”

“Delwas. Delwas the imp. What in Satan’s name is an imp doing hanging about in a monastery looking like a Greek statue?!”

“Tempting someone, aint I?! Going to get’em to break their vow of celibacy!” Delwas smirked and licked his lips lasciviously.

Crowley frowned, knowing exactly what the imp looked like out of this form. Like the lovechild of a toad and a rat. “You aren’t an incubus!”

“Yeah, but you know what they say, dress for the job you want. So I made a bit of an effort. Aint I bloody gorgeous?!” The imp preened, flexing his muscles and winking, and Crowley tried not to be sick in his mouth.

“Which monk?” Crowley asked, a strange worry suddenly gnawing at his insides.

“The head honcho. Rumour is he’s heading towards sainthood. Of course, the other side’ve got one of their lot here steering him that way. Some white-haired dilbert who’s more worried about when the next meal is going to be served than doing his effing job though, so it won’t be hard to get past him and climb that clematis into the abbot’s room. But I ain’t having you take this one from me Crowley! You don’t even do _seduction!_ I mean, look at that corporeal body you got there, its all angles and sharp bits. Have you even got a thingy down there-”

The imp’s breath rushed out of him as Crowley shoved him backwards, knocking over a pile of books that he restored with a click of his fingers before focusing his demonic might and eyes on the shivering Delwas jumbled up on the floor.

“Listen here you git. _I’m_ doing this place. Not just the abbot. The whole bloody lot of them!” He realised a moment too late quite what he said versus what he actually meant.

“You’re going to _do_ all of them?!” Delwas sneered, “Bollocks! You aint _seductive_.”

Crowley snapped his fingers and the corporeal form of the imp exploded neatly, making a ball of blood and bone that stopped before any of the books was touched before collapsing in on its self and disappearing. Sure, there’d be paperwork later on to justify the discorporation, and Delwas would probably try and stab him in the back some other time, but he wasn’t bothered. Imps weren’t particularly powerful, and Crowley had just taken credit for that whole Maid of Orleans mess, so his reputation was pretty good downstairs at the moment.

More concerning was the imp’s comment that he wasn’t _seductive!_ Which was ridiculous! He was the first tempter! Okay, so he hadn’t actually seduced Eve using the wiles that the imp had made an effort for… but, he’d always thought that was a kind of cheating. Humans were so often up for it – like a bunch of even randier rabbits during randy season – that using that kind of power was kind of like cheating. And _so_ inefficient!

But, he couldn’t stand for his reputation to be slandered in such a way. If the abbot was heading to sainthood, it would perhaps be fun to derail that. Even if it meant making _that_ kind of effort.

So it was that Crowley found himself climbing a clematis sometime after Matins prayers, cursing the plant whenever it seemed like it would pull away from the wall and drop him in the courtyard. He hadn’t bothered with all the imp’s nonsense though – no point in changing the shape of his corporeal form that much unless he really had to. He had flexibility about the kind of effort he made for the abbot, but on the whole, he preferred to prove that his ‘angles and sharp bits’ could do the job just as well as Delwas ever could have done.

He slithered over the frame of the window and dropped down into the abbot’s dark room. A shape in the bed didn’t stir as he clambered towards, practising opening lines under his breath.

“What’s an abbot like you doing in a place like this? Is that a crucifix in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? Did you know monks do it on their knees? Let’s do some things you’ll have to confess to tomorrow. You know how God created everyone, well you must have been her best creation-”

“Really??!” The shape on the bed said suddenly and sat up, hair shining white even in the barely lit room. “That’s a lovely thing to say. Oh Crowley!”

Crowley fell off the bed and landed on the hard stone floor of the cell. “Bloody hell! What are you doing in the abbot’s bed, angel?!”

“Oh, he’s very humble and he decided tonight that I, as the newest novice, should have the larger abbot’s room, and he should have my cell.”

Crowley tried to regain some dignity and drew his sprawling limbs back together. “Well, that’s information I could have done with before climbing that bloody clematis like some kind of romance crazed minstrel coming to woo the abbot!”

Aziraphale’s face seemed to crumple a bit before a slightly un-angelic smirk crossed his lips. “You were going to _woo_ the abbot?!”

Crowley huffed, “Well, I was filling in for someone who is now otherwise occupied. This _isn’t_ my usual style.”

“Oh yes, you prefer beer-related rivalries between monasteries, I recall.”

“Sometimes its wine!” Crowley snapped back. “But, yes, I am here to work my wiles.”

“So, I suppose I’m bound to thwart you?” Aziraphale said happily. “Well, it’s the first interesting thing that’s happened here in months! The abbot needs very little help in being saintly, and the food is terrible!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say you were _bound_ to thwart me. You might have accidentally thwarted me by sleeping in the abbot’s bed. But I can still track the bloke down and tempt him with some distracting thoughts about my angles and sharp bits!”

“‘Angles and sharp bits’? Oh, my dear, are you sure you want to do this? As you say, it's not really your forte!”

Crowley’s brow creased in annoyance. Another one who doesn’t think he has it in him to be seductive. Well, we will see about that! He shifted his weight and moved on and hands knees towards the angel in the bed, channelling the serpent side of himself to slink closer, while his eyes captured the angel’s, and held them, trying to mesmerise him and bend him to his will.

It would have worked if Aziraphale wasn’t another being of immense otherworldly power. The angel looks flustered instead of entranced and brings his blankets up about his linen shift as Crowley sits on the edge of the bed next to him. But then Crowley’s attempt at a leer breaks the tension and Aziraphale laughs in spite of himself.

“Oh, come on angel!”

“I’m sorry, it's just… I can tell you’re pretending! This isn’t _you!_ ”

Yes, he’s bloody well pretending! Crowley’s pretending that _he_ is isn’t completely entranced by the angel! The closer he’s gotten to him, his old ‘adversary’, the more and more he’s felt the blood pumping through his corporeal form and beads of sweat forming on his brow. The angel is soft and pink in his simple shift, and his hair is a little rumpled from lying in the abbot’s bed… wait a minute!

“You don’t sleep!” Crowley snapped at him. “You were pretending too! You were expecting the imp!”

“I suspected he would try something soon. I’d seen him in that ridiculous body about the monastery, mooching about and giving the abbot the eye. And, just between us, he was not at all tempting for me, so I was the best person to encounter him in the night and you know… send him on his way.”

“Ah, so all those muscles and the good bone structure were wasted on you.”

“Of course, my dear!” Aziraphale smiled, and leant a little closer, “He’s not my usual style either.”

A tingling wave of heat and cold flushed through Crowley as he near enough drowned in the angel’s blue eyes, inches away.

And then Aziraphale ruined it.

“Do you know they don’t even have bee-hives here! So shocking! They serve hot oats... without honey!!”

Crowley sighed and leant back against the wall of the cell, enjoying the closeness of the angel at least. “You know, I heard a rumour that the Priory of Ellingham actually does and that it’s considered the best honey in the whole of Hampshire. Maybe I’ll tell the monks here and see what happens next.” Crowley smiled wryly, sitting comfortably on the bed with his adversary, and somehow not _really_ caring that no one was going to be seduced. Tonight at least.


End file.
